


And the World, Too

by whereitwillgo



Category: The Beatles
Genre: Beach Sex, Day At The Beach, Explicit Sexual Content, Light Angst, M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-19
Updated: 2018-07-19
Packaged: 2019-06-12 20:30:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15348135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whereitwillgo/pseuds/whereitwillgo
Summary: Summer 1963. John and Paul decided it was time to grow up and stop fooling around, but it's easier said than done.





	And the World, Too

**Author's Note:**

> This is true to the actual timeline, in terms of Julian's birth (April 8), Paul meeting Jane (April 18), John's trip with Brian (April 28), and Paul's infamous 21st birthday party (June 18). But I didn't bother to look at specific tour dates and pick a real location for this.
> 
> This photo was the original inspiration: https://maccamaniac1.tumblr.com/post/173245489445

Paul removed his shoes and socks as soon as they reached the empty beach and left them behind in a pile. There was no one around to bother them. The sand was course and strewn with tangles of seaweed; sharp on the bottom's of his feet, but he didn't mind. They had an hour break before they were to meet the photographer for a few more shots; then on to he-couldn't-remember-where for a show that night. He was desperately in need of some sights other than the inside of a van or dressing room or hotel room.  
  
“Hang on,” John called after him. He yanked a sock from his foot with a flourish, and Paul laughed as he overbalanced and fell forward onto his knees.  Wet patches of sand clung to his pants when he stood up.   
  
“Now you've done it,” Paul clucked.  
  
“Mr. Camera will be very cross. Whatever shall I do?” John clutched a hand to his chest. He had been on edge from too many hours of being told to smile, but the fresh air seemed to be doing him good. Paul had been surprised John had said he wanted to come along. They generally avoided being alone these days. Paul was enjoying the feeling of them striking off together. It had been too long.  
  
“You'll win him back. Smart lad like you.” Paul winked.  
  
“Think he's more interested in pretty lads. Maybe you can put in a word.”  
  
Paul elbowed John in the side and prepared himself for a retaliatory smack, but John only took a step away and grabbed his arm with an exaggerated wince.  
  
“You're alright.” Paul said sternly, but he smiled.  
  
“Lucky for you. Think of the damage to your reputation if you injured me,” John said.

“Hailed as a hero. You're a menace."  
  
It made him uneasy when John mentioned his looks. Not that he was modest; he wasn't one to let a blessing go to waste. And not that he didn't like that John found him attractive; they'd gone well beyond the point where he could deny that he liked it and that the feeling was mutual. But when John actually said something it was never quite a compliment. It was like he found it irritating; the way you might resent a friend's new car if he drove it past your house too often. John only ever commented on his looks when he was annoyed, and Paul was hoping the afternoon wouldn't be spoiled with a fight.

Ahead, the cliffs jutted across the sand in crumbling steps toward the ocean. The sun had burned off the morning clouds and Paul was growing hot in his suit coat. He shrugged it off and handed it to John to hold while he rolled up his sleeves. John watched him in that careful way of his as he tugged his tie off and unbuttoned his collar. Maybe if things were like they used to be he would have taken his time with the task and enjoyed the way John's eyes made his skin tingle. Instead, he hurried to take back his jacket and get moving.

When they reached the outcropping, John waited as Paul selected the least treacherous path and scrambled over, planting his feet carefully to be sure the rocks wouldn't give way, and stopping periodically to check that John was following the same path.

"Careful, a bit loose there," he instructed.  
  
"Alright, mother." John chirped.   
  
On the other side, the rocks cast long shadows on the beach. The air was damp and chilly as a root cellar; the light reflected off the sand beyond the shadows, softening everything, making edges bleed like a water color painting.

“Hang on.” John fidgeted in his pockets for his cigarettes and lighter. Apparently, he'd had enough fresh air.

Paul took in how the diffused light made John's skin glow. His hair was mussed from the wind, his cheeks turning pink from the sun. Paul was reminded of John when they'd first met; wiry, frenetic, sharp eyes scrutinizing everything.

John finally located the lighter and held it up with a celebratory grin that disappeared when he caught Paul studying him. He looked down shyly and Paul had to fight the urge to kiss him. They didn't do that anymore. At least, they hadn't for months. Not since before Julian was born. He knew all the reasons, but no amount of logic kept his heart from speeding up just thinking of John's lips on his.  
  
John opened his mouth and then closed it like he intended to say something, but thought better of it. Paul cleared his throat and shifted. It was an old routine by now. John handed Paul a cigarette and went to work trying to get his nearly-spent lighter to spark. They had talked about what went on between them once or twice, but always in half thoughts, filling in each other's blanks and reassuring one another. “ _Probably shouldn't...” “If the others –” “Well, it's not as if --” “No, 'course. I know. We're not --” “Right.”_ Now that it was over, they pretended like it hadn't happened at all.

“How's the Honorable and Esteemed Miss Lady Jane Asher?” John asked. “Haven't seen her in a bit. Not since your birthday, I think.”  
  
John's tone was casual, but his words were like a gut punch. They hadn't discussed what happened at his birthday party with Bob Wooler. Paul has arrived just as Mal dragging John, drunk and furious, somewhere the guests couldn't gawk at him and Brian was rushing Wooler, dazed and covered in blood, to the hospital. Without missing a beat Paul had gone to work winding the party back up again, buoying everyone with a goodnatured shrug, the way he would have if someone had spilled red wine on the nice sofa. An unfortunate mishap, but not worth spoiling the party. No one would have known that it bothered him in the slightest, except Jane, who he'd snapped at later that night when she said ' _Honestly, I don't know why you put up with him, Paul.'_

A few days later, Paul had sat stoically through a band meeting at Brian's office. Brian stammered and fidgeted as he told them what to say about "the incident" if the press asked. The way Brian and John had avoided looking at him made him feel implicated, though he wasn't sure exactly how. He'd heard enough gossip to know that everyone thought it had to do with the trip John and Brian had taken to Spain. Paul knew it wouldn't do him any good to know more about that, so he hadn't asked. It bothered him that George and Ringo didn't ask, though. It made him wonder what they knew.

“Jane's, uh, you know, filming a movie and that,” Paul said, waving it off. John finally caught a spark from the lighter and, after his first drag, brought his hand up to Paul's face to light his cigarette as well.  
  
“Did you put her out of her misery yet?” John asked. Paul frowned, not understanding, so John continued. "Is she still a virgin?"

Paul thought he managed to keep his face impassive, but every muscle in his body tensed. He was too slow in responding, and John craned his neck, trying to catch his eye, adjusting himself so that no matter where Paul looked there was John's grinning face in the corner of his eye.  
  
“Oh no! You dog. Well?”

“What?” Paul stuttered. He cursed himself for letting John unbalance him.  
  
“Come on. How was it then?" His tone was light, but he was focused like a dog that had caught a scent.  
  
“A gentleman never tells.” Paul gazed enigmatically into the distance and winked at John, and immediately felt embarrassed, knowing his humor was transparent and unconvincing.  
  
“Gentleman,” John rasped. He raised his eyebrows and looked Paul up and down. Paul felt his skin flush.

“John, I can't... I'm not going to tell you that. She's not just some girl after a show.”  
  
John barked a mirthless laugh. “That's exactly what she is. I was at the show, remember? Skirt may be longer than your usual slag, but don't let that fool you.”  
  
Paul turned his attention to the cigarette in his hand, trying to keep hold of his temper. After all the things he had let go in the interest of keeping things right between them, he couldn't believe John had the nerve to make an issue of Jane. And to be so crude about it, when he had never said an unkind word about Cyn in all these years. 

"You want me to think you don't like her,” Paul said.

“I don't like her, in fact.” John blew a cloud of smoke just past Paul's face.  
  
“That's not it,” Paul said. He knew he sounded smug and he knew how irritating John found that, but they were too far in to avoid the argument now, anyway.  
  
“No?” John flicked the ash from his cigarette with practiced boredom and squinted out at the ocean. “Care to share with the whole class?” He leaned against the rocks, arms crossed, and waited for Paul's answer.

 _'Time to grow up'_ is what John had said when he told Paul that Cyn was pregnant and they were getting married. He hadn't needed to say more; Paul understood. It was fine for boys to mess around, but John was a man now, if he hadn't been before. It wasn't just about too many hormones and a laugh anymore. Paul had actually felt a little proud of John for doing the responsible thing, despite the cold pool that formed in his gut at the realization of what it meant.

And they had stopped. For a few months, at least. Until a hotel room somewhere, when John climbed into Paul's bed, and curled into his side, sheepish and affectionate, nuzzling at Paul's neck like a contrite dog that had been put out in the yard for misbehavior. Paul wanted to argue, to ask if he was sure, but he'd been too relieved. He'd never been good at saying no to John, even when he wanted to.

John had been different that night; deliberate and thorough. He'd kissed Paul everywhere, like he was checking off a list. It wasn't the usual frantic race to the finish before sense returned. He was indulgent. The next day, John had gone back to acting as though nothing had happened, and Paul wasn't surprised. It had felt like a goodbye. By the time Julian was born it had been long enough that it seemed safely in the past, and Paul felt a hot flush of shame for missing it when he saw John holding the baby in the hospital.

“You're afraid things have changed, _”_ Paul said. He looked him in the eye, hoping John would take his meaning without him having to say more.  
  
“Things have changed, haven't they? Won't even tell me the juicy bits.” John said. “Were you gentle with her, Paul?” His voice was high and dreamy, like a love sick teenager. Paul squirmed as the hum of arousal began to spread through him, ashamed to be turned on even though John was mocking. “Was it just like all the girls dream about when they see your face in the magazines? Tender and romantic? A bed of fucking roses, a bloody chorus of angels?”  
  
“That how you'd describe it, love?” Paul purred, bringing the cigarette to his lips slowly, delighting in the way John's eyes followed it there. He didn't care that he was being cruel. If John was going to make this difficult he would as well.  
  
“You're avoiding the question. That dull, was it?" John said, still pretending to tease as if they were just mates.  
  
The words rolled around in Paul's mind: gentle, tender, romantic. John said them like they were dirty. That's what had him bothered. An endless parade of girls and fast fucks was fine. They both had their fair share of that. But one girl was different. John didn't want him to have something of his own, they way John had Cyn and Julian. He didn't want Paul anymore, but he didn't want anyone else to have him, either.

“How is it with you and Cyn?” Paul asked. John's eyes narrowed and Paul held up a hand to forestall an angry tirade. “I'm not asking-- I'm not— I don't want to know. I'm saying, that's how it is with me and Jane. Like you and Cyn.”  
  
John didn't look any more satisfied with that answer. Paul could see him turning it around in his head, his eyes flashed as he processed it. Suddenly, Paul wanted to know very badly what it was like between John and Cyn. He felt foolish for never really questioning his own importance to John. He was so certain of it. That's what he had been trying to say; Jane was nothing compared with John. He felt like he had confessed something he hadn't intended to.   
  
“We go to plays and have dinner with her family." Words started spilling out of him to fill the anxious silence. "Her mum makes me tea. We go for walks and I hold her hand. That's what it's like. Me dad likes her and me aunties have someone to ask about when they call, you know? I mean, 'course we-- but that's not.... it's not roses and angels or whatever, just nice. Fine. A nice girl, a nice thing, a normal thing. That's all."

John nodded his head, but his brow remained furrowed, still lost in his own thoughts.

"Don't you miss it?” John asked, quietly, like he couldn't bear to say it too loudly.  
  
“Does it matter?" Paul spat. It came out angrier than he intended, so he made a point of softening his voice. "You can't have it both ways, John.”  
  
“Why not?” John stepped closer, so close his breath was warm on Paul's face.  
  
“Why not?” Paul laughed, the sound strangled by disbelief. Why did John have to question everything? Some things just were the way they were; struggling against them would only wear you out and nothing would be different in the end. “Because. I don't know. Because you can't have me and Cyn and the world, too. It won't work.”  
  
“Why not?” John repeated, stubbornly.  
  
Paul ran his hands through his hair in frustration. He didn't know why not. He felt guilty, but he wasn't sure for what. Worse than that, he felt out of step with John. A yawning chasm was opening between them, had been for months, and it would only get bigger. The thought was unbearable. He needed John to know that he understood:  _I'm like you. We're the same._ That was more important than anything else.  
  
He didn't know another way. He closed the distance between them and pressed John against the rocky wall. He gripped John's collar, maybe a little too roughly, but his kiss was soft. His tongue just barely brushed against John's lips. John strained forward to deepen the kiss, chasing Paul's mouth when he pulled away.  
  
“Are you sure?” Paul asked, he was breathless with the effort to hold himself back. John nodded his head, delirious, eyes trained on Paul's lips. He tried to lean in and claim them but Paul pulled away again. John looked up into Paul's eyes, desperate and confused. “I thought you wanted me to stay away."  
  
“Well, I didn't think you'd do it, did I?” John said, and grinned. 

The last bit of Paul's restraint was gone. He dove into the kiss. He felt a deep sense of relief pressed against John, like a cloud of anxiety that had been hanging over them was lifting. He slipped his hands inside John's jacket, feeling the warmth of his skin through his shirt. They sunk into each other, their kisses deep and unhurried.

With a girl he knew his role, he knew it was up to him to lead the way. But with John he wasn't at all sure of himself. He didn't know who was leading and who was following. He didn't know if he should push forward, or resist; all he could do was react, move on instinct. He'd done all sorts of things he never thought he would urged on by John's mouth, John's moans, John's hands fisted in his hair, the look in his eye, a word.  
  
He felt John push against him, trying to reverse their positions. He resisted, and pushed his thigh between John's legs, pinning him in place. Paul groaned at the friction. He could feel the weight of John's cock against his hip and his mind leapt forward, his heart raced with anticipation. It had been so long, he'd really thought it was over. He was dizzy with lust, for right now and all the future moments that were suddenly a possibility again.

He buried his face in John's neck, kissing him from his collar bone to his ear. He wrestled with John's belt, and heard John laugh low in his ear at his urgency. Then his fingers brushed against John's cock, gently, indulging himself in the feel of the soft skin and hard heat beneath. John shuddered, his hips bucked involuntarily into Paul's hand. Paul pulled back to watch John's face. He was filled with awe at what he could do to him, and how beautiful John was with his eyelids lowered, mouth open and panting, brow furrowed with need.   
  
John grabbed the hair at the nap of Paul's neck, pulling him close.  
  
“Don't tease,” John hissed in his ear.  
  
“Wouldn't,” Paul murmured as he stroked him lazily, like he had all the time in the world.  
  
“Would, bastard," John said. Paul could feel John smiling against his cheek. He didn't care if it was sensible. Music wasn't sensible; but it was what was in him. Some things you couldn't explain, but they were true just the same.   
  
“You can't – We can't – ” John panted. Paul stilled and held his breath, afraid John would tell him to stop. “We have to get back – _Jesus Christ._ " John lost coherence as Paul twisted his wrist, and stroked downward in one smooth motion.  
  
He was worried they'd be late? It wasn't the kind of thing John worried about. Paul thought of walking back to the others, flushed and wrinkled, smelling of sex. Brian would know, if not the others. Maybe that's what John was worried about. Something primal surged within Paul; he didn't care if Brian knew. If it had to be a secret from everyone else, at least Brian would know what it was between them. A trip to Spain couldn't change it.

Paul fell to his knees and pulled John's trousers open. He pressed his face against John's cock through his underwear, breathing in deeply, feeling lightheaded from the scent of John combined with the salt air. He pressed his lips against him, making the fabric damp with his breath. He freed John's cock and licked him from base to tip, then took him in all at once, savoring the feel against his lips and tongue. He gripped John's hip, holding him in place as he circled the head of his cock with his tongue. John whimpered, a beautiful high flutter, inconsolable with need.

Paul looked up, knowing John would be watching him. John caressed Paul's cheek, brushed his hair back and buried his fingers there. Paul moaned and pressed himself forward as far as he could. John started to move his hand away and Paul covered it with his own, holding it in place. Paul bottom teeth barely scrapped against the underside of John's cock and John let loose a tumult of pleasured curses, Paul smiled and the flare of heat in John's eyes was a sight he'd never get enough of. 

It was like a dam had burst for both of them; the goal was in sight. John's legs trembled with the effort to stay upright. His hand gripped Paul's shoulder so tightly it was almost painful. Paul's cock ached for attention, but he could tell John was close. The movement of his hips was erratic and he held his breath. Paul moved faster, he moaned and heard John moan in return. John tried to push him away, but Paul only clung more tightly to him. A few more strokes and the salty taste filled his mouth as John shuddered and gasped for air.

He wasn't sure if he stood or John pulled him up, but their lips met hungrily, John's hands were every where at once, his hair, his arms, his back, unzipping his pants. The urgency was no longer anything to laugh at. Paul had never wanted anything more than he wanted John's hands on him then. When John finally wrapped his hand around his painfully hard cock Paul's grateful whimper interrupted their kiss for just a moment before they rejoined.

He buried his face in John's neck, holding himself up with a hand twisted in the back of John's jacket as he came. With anyone else he might have felt embarrassed at how easily a few tugs sent him over the edge, but it was John and John understood what it felt like. His ears rang with the force of it, like his soul was draining from his body and all that was left behind was a contented emptiness. Far away, he could feel them both sink to the ground.

John's airy laughter brought Paul back. They sat half entwined on the ground, John's back against the rocks, Paul's leg's somehow over and under him at the same time, John's hand still cradling Paul's cock. It was awkward, but Paul didn't feel the usual need to pull away. Something had been decided it seemed. It was okay to linger. Paul looked up at John, who's laughter was still bubbling up from deep in his belly.

"What's so funny?" Paul said, his voice thick.

"Think I heard angels." John said.

"That right?" Paul looked up at John with a self-satisfied grin.

“Might have been mistaken. Might've been you moaning.” John said and waggled his eyebrows. Paul rolled his eyes, but he couldn't stop smiling. He hadn't felt this relaxed with John in months.

Finally, Paul started to extricate himself. John groaned in protest, but followed suit. They giggled and stumbled into each other, still languid and unsteady. John cleaned his hand off in the sand as best he could. They straightened their clothes, brushed them off, then surveyed one another. They were hopelessly wrinkled, speckled with damp patches and stubborn bits of sand.

John's hair was a mess, like he'd just crawled out of bed. Paul reached up to try and smooth it.

"You should see yourself," John said.

"What?" Paul smoothed his hair self-consciously.

"Don't bother. It's your face that gives it away. Your lips --" John stopped and swallowed raggedly. 

Paul was grateful that John hadn't finished the thought or there was no chance they'd make it back on time. As he thought of what they'd tell the others about their disarray, something began to nag at him.

"John, what happened at the party?" He asked. "You and Brian, did you --”

"No.” John answered, sharply.

"I don't care if you did." Paul pushed down a wave of sickening jealousy just thinking about Brian and John together. "As long as it's not, you know..." he waved a hand between them.  _As long as it's not like it is with us._

"Course it isn't.” John said, like Paul was daft to suggest such a thing. "It isn't anything like that."

“Ok,” he nodded. “Why'd you go after Bob like that?"

John's shoulders collapsed. He looked guilty, and Paul knew John didn't sit well with guilt; it made him angry and defensive.

“Oh, you noticed that?” John said, mock laughing. He looked up at Paul, with an intensity Paul wasn't expecting. “He saw me watching you and Jane parading around, the toast of Liverpool, and he told me he was sorry, you know, sympathetic. He said 'It happens. Some blokes can move on.' Like he knew everything about me and you, the whole bloody thing, and he was sorry that you chucked me for Jane.” John smiled bitterly. “So, I tried to kick the life out of him, you see.”

Paul was silent for a long time. John kicked the sand, waiting for a lecture, Paul supposed.

“Way off, wasn't he? You chucked me,” Paul said. John looked up at him, a relieved smile spreading across his face.

“I didn't chuck you.”

“Near enough.” Paul said, cheerfully. “But we sorted it out. Didn't we?”

"Did we? That what you call it?" John laughed, but then his face grew serious. "How's this going to work, then?"

Paul didn't know, and he didn't want to think about it just yet. He pulled John to him and it felt strange for a moment. They didn't usually kiss each other afterwards, even if they slept in the same bed; as though obeying a strict end to the physical act made it okay.

He pressed his lips to John's and it wasn't like any kiss they'd shared before. It wasn't lust. They'd written enough bloody songs about it, he knew the word for what it was.  _Love._ He was certain that John felt it too, the way he knew he'd hit a chord John would like a split second before John's eyes lit up.  _Love._  Saying it seemed silly. How many girls had he said those words to? It wasn't enough for John. Someday he'd find a way. They had time now.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Savageandwise for encouragement and writing talk. How would I get through the day without it?


End file.
